


Wooden Horse For Two (There are Worse Things in This World)

by jannika



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jannika/pseuds/jannika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When you erase a blackboard with school erasers, there is always dust left behind, little bits of what was there before. Even when it’s written over, when the next days lessons are up, those old bits are still there. If you know what you’re looking for, if you remember what was there, you can still see them, the math problems and vocabulary words from days ago. Bits of chalk that won’t let go. The more you erase, the dirtier and cloudier it gets.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Memory, he thinks, is a lot like that. </i></p><p> </p><p>Maybe he doesn't need to remember everything, maybe he just needs to remember enough. Bucky does a lot of research and a lot of observing, Steve is persistent and Sam is patient. </p><p>(Captain America: The Winter Solider spoilers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wooden Horse For Two (There are Worse Things in This World)

He visits the Smithsonian every day for a week. He goes in the late afternoon and stares at the man who was or is or could be him. He watches a video where a woman talks. He thinks of red and dance and something that crawls down his neck he can't identify when he sees her. He reads the text, he looks at pictures, somedays it means something, maybe. Somedays it makes his pulse quicken. Somedays it means nothing, stirs nothing at all. Somedays someone bumps him and his fist clenches around the knife in his pocket. He's still, though. Figuring this out is important. More important than people who bump him or give him funny looks. 

He catches sight of himself in reflective objects- he tries to avoid mirrors- and he tries to look away but can't. He wonders if under his hair and his stubble, if under the dirt and the blood and death he feels in his pores, is the man in the museum. He wonders if under the blankness in his brain his a man who knew how to be a soldier and not just a killer, knew how how to be a friend to a hero.

After, in the evenings, he goes and watches an apartment. Captain America's apartment. It disorients him, not just watching the man who refused to kill him, who saved him, who had possibly ruined everything, but something else there feels like something he knew. More recently, maybe. He doesn't know what recent is. He doesn't know what time is.  
Captain America gets visitors a lot, people who seem to be checking on him. There's a man he thinks had wings who’s there everyday- they seem to be planning, reading page after page, talking. He thinks they might be talking about him. He doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know what he is.

Eventually, Captain America and his friend with the wings leave. So he leaves too. He goes to New York. The museum said it was home for the man who might be, could be, him. It feels. It feels like maybe not home but like something when he gets there, heads to Brooklyn, finds a street that makes him stop dead in his tracks. The street feels like Captain America, feels like- he doesn't remember, but standing on the street he thinks for a minute that there is something he should remember. It's enough, for now.

****

He goes to the library, finds volumes, book after book about Captain America. He piles them around himself at a table in the corner. He stares at pictures, he reads about the course of American history being shaped, about the world being saved. He reads until the voice in his head says _Steve_ in a voice that sounds like his own. Steve Rogers, who dives on bombs and takes himself out to save the world. Steve Rogers, who had a best friend. Steve Rogers, who is convinced that friend is him. 

A girl comes over when he's been there all day for three days, open to close, and says,

"Are you interested in signing up for a library card?"

He's startled but manages to shake his head no and not strangle her with his metal arm. Barely. 

"No? You'd just need to fill out our name. You could take these home, then," she attempts. He doesn't have a name or a home. He shakes his head again. She bites her lip. He thinks she's probably very pretty. It's not something he ever thinks about, you don't look for things like that when you're looking at the world through the sight of a gun.

"Interested in all that because of the news? Have you looked at everything online? All those files that leaked out?" she presses on, staring at his pile of books. He shakes his head again. This is the longest interaction he's had since Steve, and no one is trying to kill anyone else this time. She frowns and studies him. He knows his hair is long and unwashed, that his clothes are filthy, that his eyes are haunted. 

"Do you want me to show you? I can set you up on a computer. It's a lot more information," she says. He debates running. He stays and nods yes, even allowing a grunted, scratchy,

"Yeah," to leave his throat. He has to figure this out. It feels like a mission, one he gave himself. 

She puts him on a computer in the corner. He doesn't think he knows how to work one, but after a few clicks it feels like muscle memory, like maybe someone taught him this once, and he starts searching. She smiles and walks away, he thinks the look she gives him is kind. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a similar one.

The internet is full of information, more about Steve, more about everything. Some he knows, some is new. Some he actually knows- Hydra and their plans, although he doesn't think he ever knew all the details. Not like this. He reads about how twenty million people nearly died. He thinks about how he helped, how he he was trying to make that happen. He wonders if the library girl would have been one of them, since she seems to be the opposite of what he knew Hydra to be. He wonders why, with so many lives at stake, Steve didn't just kill him. Why Steve had let something stand in the way of his mission.

He looks deeper. He finds what seems to be people just discussing, people talking about Steve and the man Steve thinks he is- he reads about their friendship, he digs deeper and finds the phrase _romantic friendship_. He digs deeper and sees speculation that- theories that- he closes the tab. His skin itches and his heart is racing. He does not look up the Winter Soldier. He looks up memory loss instead- amnesia. He doesn’t know if that’s what he has. He doesn’t know what to call it. Sometimes he’s still not sure if there is anything to remember. The internet says that with time and exposure to forgotten things most amnesia will cure itself. He isn’t sure that really applies in his case. He reads until he can’t anymore- his brain hasn’t been this full in, he doesn’t know. He has no fucking idea.

The library girl comes back over, that same kind smile on her face and puts fliers in front of him for homeless shelters and soup kitchens and rehab centers. She doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t make eye contact. He leaves them on the desk when he goes. He’s not staying in New York, not staying on the streets that pull on his brain. If exposure to familiar things will really help, if there is some way this is true and he is who Steve thinks he is, then he’s going to have to go after the source. After the most familiar thing of all.

****

He doesn’t sleep, he hasn’t slept in weeks, years maybe. Or maybe he’s slept too much. He’s not sure. Either way the days run together and last longer than other people’s. It’s an advantage when tracking. He finds Steve and the man with wings. (Sam. The internet called him Sam.) Six hours after leaving the library. He watches. Listens, tries to pay attention to anything his mind does, to anything like memory.

****

When you erase a blackboard with school erasers, there is always dust left behind, little bits of what was there before. Even when it’s written over, when the next days lesson’s are up, those old bits are still there. If you know what you’re looking for, if you remember what was there, you can still see them, the math problems and vocabulary words from days ago. Bits of chalk that won’t let go. The more you erase, the dirtier and cloudier it gets.

Memory, he thinks, is a lot like that.

****

The first memory that comes back in more than just a bit, that comes back as a full story, comes like this:

When he’s nine years old, he plays hide and seek- he doesn’t know with who, that part is blurry- but he’s playing and he’s all curled up in the best spot, hidden in under a table and behind a cupboard in the storage area of a shop. He doesn’t know who it belongs to. He thinks he knew at the time. But he’s there and he’s hiding and a man walks in and he looks angry. He’s joined a minute later by another angry looking man. They stare at each other for a minute then hiss things he’s can’t hear. He hopes no one comes to find him now. He hopes the angry men don’t find him either. Still he can’t help watching, and as he does there is a moment when the glare turn to smiles, sneaky and fast grins, and then they are- the two men are kissing. He freezes. He stares. And then he puts his hands on his ears and sinks back and doesn’t make a sound until he’s sure they’re gone. He runs home, forgetting the game entirely. 

He knows he never told anyone that.

****

He watches Steve draw and he smells charcoal and old paper and maybe cigarettes. He gets a flash, watching, of a younger Steve, a much smaller one, sitting and drawing at an old table. The man with wings, Sam, comes in. The skin on his neck does something. He feels something. It’s not distrust or anger, but it’s not a comfortable emotion. 

“Taking my suggestion? Drawing your old neighborhood, old New York through the eyes of Captain America?” Sam asks, grinning.

“Not quite,” Steve says, passing Sam a piece of paper. 

“Not quite,” Sam repeats, eyebrows raised. From his spot he sees it, the drawing. It’s him. Or, it’s the him Steve wants him to be.

“He’s out there,” Steve says, low and determined. It sounds familiar.

“Which him?” Sam asks. He looks kind too, like that girl in the library.

“Bucky,” Steve says, pulling his drawing back, smiling down like- not like anything.

“I hope so,” Sam says. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, face still kind.

He crawls away, doesn’t want to hear anymore right now. The skin on his neck prickles again.

 _Jealousy_ , his mind supplies. Jealousy.

****

He remembers a train, he remembers falling, he remembers being made not to remember, he remembers pools of blood he caused, he remembers trying to fight back, at first. He doesn’t remember what comes before that. He wonders what’s in the file, wonders if Steve knows all the people he’s killed, all the things he does. He thinks he must, he thinks he must have known before, and yet he saved him.

He wonders if anyone is looking for him. He wonders if anyone is looking to take him back, remove the progress he’s made. He thinks he could kill them if they came for him.

He’s not sure why he’s scared. He doesn’t remember ever being scared before.

****

He’s watching again, Sam is out somewhere, looking for information about him, he thinks. Steve is pacing. He looks worried, and then he stops, suddenly, and looks right up, right to the rafters.

“You were there outside my apartment. You’re here now, you’ve been here for days, I know you have,” Steve says. He freezes. 

“I’d like you to come talk to me, but mostly I just wanted you to know that I know you’re there,” Steve says.

He jumps down, strides across the room. He doesn’t think he’s scared or angry. He’s still a little too cloudy to tell.

“You saw me,” he says. His voice sounds wrong, but Steve smiles.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, grinning.

“I still don’t know if I’m him,” he says.

“I know you are,” Steve says, his hands are shaking a little.

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” he says.

“I know,” Steve says, he takes a step closer.

“I tried to kill you,” he says.

“You saved me,” Steve says, “You pulled me out of the water.”

“I watched you fall,” he says.

“I watched you fall once,” Steve says.

“I remember,” he says- because it’s true, he does.That part he remembers. Steve is looking at him like he’s not sure how to take this, how happy to be, how nervous, how on guard. 

“You remember anything else?” Steve asks.

“Sometimes,” he says. Steve grins. He knows that grin. He knows him. He was supposed to kill him but he _knows him_ , he knows now, for certain, that he knows him. He knew him. He knows him now.

“Let me help,” Steve says. 

“Tell me who I am,” He says, then he adds, “Steve.”

Steve grins brighter than he thinks he’s seen in a very, very long time. He starts to talk. Tells a story about growing up together and Brooklyn and war. He read all this in books and on the internet, but it sounds more real when Steve says it.

****

He remembers a war and a lab, he remembers being tied down, experiments and torture, he remembers a rescue, 

_“I thought you were dead.”_

_“I thought you were smaller.”_

He thinks they had him then, they had him after he fell, they had him for years. Maybe they always will. He thinks he should run, hide, he thinks maybe this mission is over. Hes heard what Steve said, he’s listened. He’s working on believing. He tries to sneak out in the night, they’ve been talking for days. Well, Steve has. He’s been listening. Steve’s asleep in a chair now, though, and it seems like a good time.

Steve wakes up before he makes it three steps. 

“Where you going?” Steve asks.

“I have to go,” he says.

“Don’t,” Steve says and then he’s standing up, and then there are hands, one on each of his shoulders and places where Steve’s hands are on his skin and-

He remembers a pull of longing and a constant want and a need to protect Steve, a need to alway be beside him. _Till the end of the line._ He remembers and he remembers his mission, remembers being sent to hunt him down. He remembers they’re probably coming for him.  
It’s too much- he jerks away, he pulls back, he starts to fight back, but Steve doesn’t let go, won’t let go. 

“Don’t,” Steve says again. 

“I think they’re looking for me,” he manages.

“So we’ll fight them when they come. Together,” Steve says. It’s still too much. But he stays anyway. Just for the night.

****

He doesn’t sleep, but he remembers. 

They’re in their apartment, and they’ve got dates in three hours. They’re going dancing and Steve is protesting that he doesn’t know how.

“Come here,” he- _Bucky _, says. He grabs for Steve’s arm and pulls him in.__

__“What, why?” Steve asks._ _

__“I’ll show you,” Bucky says._ _

__“Show me how to dance?” Steve questions. Bucky smiles._ _

__“Sure, Molly is very pretty, you’ll want to impress her,” Bucky says. He pull Steve in and gets an arm around his waist, swaying with him._ _

__“How does it help me to do the girl’s part?” Steve asks._ _

__“Just pay attention,” Bucky say. He should probably say it’s because Steve is smaller, or because then he’ll know what works, he should probably list dozens of reasons. The thing is he’s having trouble thinking of them when he’s holding Steve like this. It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t want this. He doesn’t know how to help it, how to not enjoy this moment, no matter how false it is._ _

__“There’s no music,” Steve says, but he’s leaning in, moving in time._ _

__“You’re better at this than you said,” Bucky says._ _

__“You’re not a girl,” Steve returns. Bucky’s not sure what that means. He doesn’t even know what he wants it to mean._ _

__They dance for so long they’re late for their dates._ _

__Bucky can’t remember anything else that happened that night, but the dancing is a very clear picture._ _

__

__****_ _

__

__They fly back to Washington, Steve promising they’ll be safe, or at least ready when attack comes there. They sit far away from the others- Sam and a woman named Natasha. He’s almost certain he knows her too. He’s also fairly certain she’s there in case he starts trying to kill them all. He doesn’t mind. He’s glad no one is trying to talk to him, though. No one but Steve._ _

__“Thanks for coming back with me,” Steve says._ _

__“I think I told you once I’d follow you anywhere,” Bucky says. (He keeps rolling it around in his head. James Barnes. Bucky. A name.)_ _

__“Yeah, you did,” Steve says. Bucky wants to ask so many things- why Steve believed, why Steve couldn’t kill him, why Steve trusts him now- but he’s not ready for any of it. He’s not ready for much. He’s still tempted to run. So he says, because Steve is looking at him so- fondly, he says,_ _

__“Remember when I taught you to dance?”_ _

__“You remember that?” Steve asks, grinning._ _

__“Just now,” Bucky says._ _

__“You want to know a secret about that night?” Steve asks, leaning in._ _

__“Sure,” Bucky says._ _

__“I didn’t really need you to teach me,” Steve says, “I just wanted you to.”_ _

__He should ask why, he should press that, or maybe Steve should. But he can’t, so he just nods and Steve smiles back. He can’t imagine all the things he still has to figure out, can’t imagine what he doesn’t remember, can’t imagine what will happen if they come for him, can’t imagine what anything happening with Steve means- but he doesn’t need to, not right now._ _

__“I’m glad you’re back, Bucky,” Steve says. He reaches out and grabs Bucky’s hand, sliding their fingers together._ _

__“Me too,” Bucky says, squeezing back._ _

__For now, it’s enough._ _

**Author's Note:**

> So this my first time in this fandom and I'm terribly, terribly nervous about it. After seeing Winter Solider I was completely unable to help myself. Title from Belle and Sebastian's Jonathan David. Because that song is actually about Steve and Bucky and it upsets me in my heart.


End file.
